Читаем Mia Goes Fourth полностью

to make all the decisions. But really I am recording my innermost thoughts and feelings in this book. Like the fact that I think Interior Minister Pepin looks exactly like this howler monkey I once saw on World's Funniest Animals. Or that Secretary Renard needs to start watching his saturated fats intake.

Not that it is at all princesslike to comment on the physical inadequacies of others. Especially when I have so many physical inadequacies of my own.

But it isn't like I don't have enough to worry about. I mean, I can barely bring myself to believe that a whole new year has actually started. Seriously. So much has happened to me since last year - enough that probably a better-adjusted person

might have totally lost it. Fortunately, since I was born a biological freak, and am therefore very used to adversity, I was

able to take it all in my stride, for the most part.

But if I had been anyone else - like Katie Holmes, or maybe one of the Olsen twins - I so fully would have not been able to deal. Because, you know, Katie and Mary Kate and Ashley are totally gorgeous and self-actualized, and never have to

worry about anything. Whereas I, in less than a year's period, have been through so much trauma and angst it is a wonder

I am not on Oprah every single day, pouring my heart out to Dr Phil. I mean, in the last four months alone, I have found

out that:

1. My dad is the Prince of Genovia, and that I am his heir.

2. My grandmother is the Dowager Princess of Genovia, and that it is her duty to train me for the day I will ascend

    the throne.

3. My mom is having my Algebra teacher's baby (but unlike me, my new brother or sister will not bear the stigma

   of illegitimacy, since Mom and Mr. Gianini are married).

4. My best friend Lilly's brother, whom I have loved since the day I met him, when I was in the first grade and he

    was in fourth and he came over in the playground to give Lilly her social studies project which she had forgotten

   (an exact replica of the Parthenon, in red Play Doh), actually loves me back, and now we are going out.

Or at least we will when I get done with my first official visit to Genovia since discovering I am the sole heir to its throne,

and am allowed to return to my normal life as a ninth-grader in New York City.

I am telling you, a lesser person would have had to check herself into Bellevue. These are extremely startling, almost earth-shattering discoveries. It is only due to the fact that so many excruciatingly horrible things have happened to me throughout my life - excessively large feet; lack of notable mammary growth; general difficulty in asserting myself in front of peers, resulting in unpopularity; owning an overweight pet cat; inability to comprehend multiplication of fractions — that I

have been able to cope at all. I mean, I am way used to affliction by now.

Not that the part about Michael is an affliction. The knowledge that my love for him is not unrequited, like Wolverine's for

Jean Grey in X-MEN, is the only bright spot in my otherwise hideous existence.

Oh, and the baby brother or sister thing. That's pretty cool, too. Though I'd prefer it if my mom would let the doctor tell her what it is she's having, so I don't have to keep writing brother or sister all the time. Mom says she doesn't want to know,

since if it's a boy she won't push, due to not wanting to bring another Y-chromosomed oppressor into the world (Mr G says that is just the hormones talking, but I'm not so sure. My mom can be pretty anti-Y chromosome when she puts her mind to it).

I can't help wondering, as I sit here, listening to some dude whose title I don't know — although in his purple and gold sash

he looks a little like Mayor McCheese - go on about the cost of parking-garage time clocks, not to mention parking-garage attendants, what lies in store for me in the coming year. I mean, last year I got:

a.  a crown

b.  a new stepdad

c.  a potential baby brother or sister, and

d.  a handsome, smart, funny boyfriend . . . my heart's one desire.

Sunday, January 3,

Royal Genovian Rose Garden

Poem for M. M.

Across the deep-blue shining sea,

is Michael, far away from me.

But he doesn't seem so far away -

though I haven't seen him for sixteen days -

because in my heart Michael stays

and there he'll beat forever always.

OK, that poem sucks. I can see I am going to have to work harder if I am to come up with a fitting tribute to my love.

What could possibly happen next?

Tuesday, January 5,

Royal Quarters of the Dowager Princess

Grandmere is yelling at me again.

As if I don't totally get why everybody is so mad about the whole speech thing. I mean, I have already resolved that